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TWO CENTURIES Of
By William Gamage Batche
lour in the Artes.
Patere, aut Abstine.
Printed by Aug. Matthewes for Henry Bell, and are to
be sold at his Shop in Bethelem without Bishops
Gate, at the signe of the Sunne.
TO THE RIGHT NOBLE, AND
my much honoured Ladie, KATHERINE,
Ladie MANSELL, daughter to the
Right Honourable Lord, L. Viscount de Lisle:
Earths Glorie, and Heavens Happinesse.
ARE PARAGON of vertue, affying, or rather presuming on your heroicall disposition, I have adventured to conduct to the open field of the World Two Centuries of Epigrammes, which if they be deign’d to march under the Banner of your Ho: protection, I doubt not but that they may the safer, as they say, Passe the Muster. And the rather I build on your all-favourable patronage by reason of your Ladyships neere affinitie with that worthie, and Tresnoble Sir Phillip Sidney, whose golden Pen vouchsafed to Apologize the renowned art of Poetry. If this my Rurall, and unacquainted muse Limm’s not forth either in Matter, or Manner the vive Portraiture of an Epigramme, your Ladyship may easilie conjecture, that it was rather Cherillus Pen, and not Apelles Pencill that shadowed it; but hoping the acceptation, with your Ho: protection hereof, if not for the Worke, yet for the names-sake, I ever rest
Your worthy Ladyships most devoted Votorie:
Ad Ingeniosum & modestum amicum,
G. Gamage de Epig.
Alpha epigrammateωn per me sit noster Oënus,
Hic primum, aut nemo est, dignus habere locum:
Tu quotus es, Gammagi? ex nominis indice, gamma.
Sed te Musa facit beta epigrammateωn.
Ad eundem de eisdem.
Grata diu fuerant quæ linea-lanea, nostris,
Grata tamen nostris tegmina, si qua diu.
Talia tu texis (Gamage) poemata, plus quam
Lanea sunt usu, linea deliciis.
Gratia ut sint dubitas, bruma atque æstate placebunt,
His delectari fæmina virque queant,
Hoc tantum distant, æstatem tegmina durant,
Aetates durant hæc tua texta. Vale.
Mo. Fortune in Art. Mag. e Col. Je.
In fidelissimi amici G. Gamage
Læta iuvant relevando graves epigrammata mentes:
Sunt tua læta satis, sunt tua casta satis.
Invida ne metuas mordacis murmura Momi:
Collaudet Momus vel meliora ferat
Ingenii documenta boni, monumenta futuræ:
Posteritatis erunt. Scribere perge. Vale.
Ro. Harris in Art. Mag.
Ad Cordatum amicum, G. Ga-
mage de Epigrammatis.
Fæcunda est ætas, multos tulit ista poetas,
At tibi (Gamagi) non tulit ista parem.
Aliud ad Lectorem
Perlege, quicunque es, decies repetita placebunt,
Aut tibi, quicunque es, nulla placere queunt.
Hen. Atho, in Art. Mag.
Ad amicum amantissimum G.G. in Epigrammata
Laudibus excelsis tua sunt epigrammata salsa,
Digna legat puer hæc, hæc legat ipse senex.
Quamvis es iuvenis, tamen experientia rerum
Ingeniumque bonum, te facit esse senem.
Sacre sacra canis, resonasque profana profane,
Vox quoque cuique rei quælibet apta sonat.
Apparet doctæ mira dulcedine linguæ
Musarum sacros te coluisse choros.
Jo. Vaughan, Art. Mag.
Idem ad Librum, in Zoilum.
Si te quis Zoilus rabido vult rodere dente,
Ætatem domini ponderet ipse tui.
In Epigrammata cognati & amici explorati
Siccine diparibus lusisti moribus orbem,
Innumeris numeris (trux epigramma) tuis?
Rusticus, urbanus, quid vis? Bellicosus, Amator,
Magmatibus nitidis aulicus? Hoc et habet.
XAIRE suum cuique est, nec voto ludimus uno,
His diversa placent. Quid cupis? Hoc et habes.
Tam bene compactos calamos vult dente repelli
Zoylus edax nostrum? Subfugiat, hoc nec habet.
Vult numeris nostris includi moribus? Ecce
Rem teneat. Numeret furcifer: hoc et habet.
Gul. Hughes, in Art. Bacc.
Idem ad Librum.
Eia age, per genios faciles, Momosque, per ignes,
Per varias rerum fæces, per saxa, per umbras.
Ad suum amicum, Gu. Ga.
in sua Epigrammata
Laudabunt omnes epigrammata docta priorum,
Hoc opus excultum vincit (amice) tuum.
Hæc mandes Scriptis; es cedro digna locutus;
Te presens ætas, posteriorque canent.
Hop. Price Gener
Ad cognatum percharissimum G. G.
in laudem Libelli.
Hic liber est parvus, non parvi. Gratia parvis
Est sua, sic libro gratia magna tuo.
Pergas. Quid densis latitas, Philomuse, sub umbris?
Aspiret cœptis aura secunda tuis.
Jo. Powell e Coll. Oriel.
To his friend, and familiar W. Gamage of his Epigrams.
Oft have I fed on Epigrammes before,
With which my appetites I overprest;
Thy better wit hath kept me these in store,
As a sweet banquet to disgest the rest:
Serv’d in with plates of Christall, scour’d so cleere,
That to each guest his picture may appeare.
Another, to the same.
If what Pythagoras hath wrote be true,
Some antique Satyre lives in thee anew,
Nature and Art are with themselves at strife,
To whome thou hast giv’n greater praise or life;
On both alike, for nature first began,
Then art made perfect what from nature ran.
To my lo. friend W. Gamage in the praise of
Thy overlooking of the pleasant fields,
In sport abroad to spend some idle howres:
Hath gath’red fruit not of unfruitfull weeds;
But set a Banke of sweet and fragrant flowers.
Continue then both earl’e and late to rise
To walke abroad, to use this exercise.
Another of the same.
In my conceipt this thy conceipted Booke,
Deserves the stamp of everlasting praise:
Feare no man’s face that on his face doth looke,
His forehead shines with complementall raies.
Gamage thy name, and of thy age the Game
Thou dost deserve, tho not desire the same.
The Author to the Praisers of his booke.
It feares me, that your kinde heroicall Layes
Are too transcendent for my humble straine:
And Load-stone-like drawe to themselues the praise;
And so my Muse receive a dull disdaine.
No force, I hope your lines will sooth some one
To read my Booke, and descant thereupon.
THE FIRST CENTURIE
To his heroike, and splendent Patronesse,
Katherine, Lady Mansell.
This stuffe of mine, I grant, is overcourse,
For your fine wearing, Loadstarre of our Clime,
Yet let it serve, I pray, tho few be worse
As a course garment for this Winter time.
Ere Sommer els, I do most highly feare,
That Momus will my Loome in sunder teare.
On her name.
C Cell of vertue thou art rare,
A Any with for to compare,
T That doth dwell in Cambers Clime,
H Having noble Sydneys Line.
E Ever beautifie thy name,
R Royall, worthy, peereles dame:
I In vertue still let be thy dwelling,
N Never ill, in good excelling;
E Eternizing so thy fame.
M Might my praier be accepted, 10
A Accept it, Lord, and graunt her Ishue:
N Never none to be rejected
S Send her, children, cloath’d in Tishue,
E Erect her calling at thy pleasure,
L Let her life be vertues Treasure:
L Lead her soule where Angels are.
To the worthy founder of our famous Oxonian
Librarie, Sir Tho: Bodley, built in
the forme of a T.
The forked Y, as learned Sages write,
Containes in it deepe mysteries divine:
Thy target T if that I true endite,
Doeth shelter in’t more many a sacred Line
Then all the letters of that asage his name;
Such is the Glory of thy Vaticane.
To the Reader of his Poëmes.
Some of these Poemes, some will Satyres call,
(What tho some be grim Satyres-like, and tall?
Which Monsters be, pertaining to the Wood.)
These do molest the Bad, but please the good,
On Zoylus, of his Booke.
Poets doe stile thee oft a biting Mate;
Which argues thee the eater of some Bookes:
Eate this withall, but leave to Barke thereat,
So that in fine this Morsell quite thee choakes.
A Courtizan, Etymologized.
A Courtizan most fit derives her name,
By her conditions from a courteous Dame.
What Nature did to her so gratis give,
With this shee will all such as begge relieve.
The Noone-tide Walker of Paules.
What maks thee stay? Wel nie, since all be gone;
Thou telst me, cause some verses thou wouldst make.
Ist so? thou mai’st since thou art most alone,
And cause all day thy Panch must emptie quake.
Garnet, with his Twelve Apostles.
Joseph, with his Apostles twelve first plants,
In Englands Soile, Religion pure to grow;
But thou, and thy twise sixe infernall Wants,
Didst this endeavour to supplant; and Sow
Thy Popish Darnell; but the season fail’d,
And thou with thine, to Tyburns post wast nail’d.
The sickmans Dialogue.
Sicknesse what art? the Bodies schourging Rod;
What else? the queller of thy lofty blood.
Moreover what? the path unto thy God.
And what in fine? Death’s message for thy good.
Since thou art then the soule and bodies weale,
Come when thou wilt, from thee Ile ne’re appeale.
On our Bacchanalians.
Thunder as anci’ent Poets fabulize,
Begate God Bacchus, Lord of all misrule:
No wonder then his Nephewes, which Pottize
Till they be drunke, use clamors like the Mule.
Remove the cause th’effect soone take away:
Yee’ll aske me how? lop downe the Ivie Bay.
To his deare interressed friend Mr M. Cradocke.
As I thy ground did compasse and o’re-looke
I compassed well nie, this triviall Booke.
In Lanuginosos Buccinatores.
To his fr. Mr. Rob. LLoyd.
Ore many are, as we may dayly see,
That start too soone to Moyses sacred seat.
Before they sit beneath Gamaliels knee,
To sucke the Nectar of his flowing Teat.
These Brocchers be of schisme and heresie,
Not skilling how to teach or edifie.
To the worthie Mecænas of learning Mr Anthony
Amongst the Scythians Anacharsis sage
Was their sole Clearke, the *Proverbe verifies.
I will not say, in this our learned age,
Thou art sole Phœnix, in arts Mysteries.
But this I’le say, in this our barren Clime:
Thou art the best Mecænas unto thine.
* Anacharsis inter Scythas.
To the studious Gent. Mr J. Carne.
Thy studious Booke, thy blazed fame shall ring:
When others pastime to great shame shall bring.
To his respective fr. Mr Row. Harries, of pious,
religious scholler, Mr Hop. Price, lately de-
Some grave in yeares, in lore but childish yet,
In stud’ing, fleering, fliting, fading toies.
But thou, young Price, had’st cert’s a graver wit
In conning precepts of aye lasting joyes.
Let these alone, t’enjoy their fruitlesse art;
Thou doubtlesse now hast chose the *better part.
* Luca 10. 42.
To our Moderne Epigrammatists, of his Poemes.
All Arts, which latest come to common view,
Are commonly the best without compare;
But in these lines you cannot finde this true,
Like timelesse fruits, unmellowed right which are,
For you have gather’d all the Sommers flowers.
Here are but leavings mixt with Hyems showers.
One Mounsier Elatus, deceased.
It lately seemd by thy aspiring mind,
Thou totall wast compos’d of loftie fire:
Which upwards tends, the place to’ hit assign’d,
But thy downefall unto the basest *mire,
Betokens now thy substance was but clay;
Which should have stoop’t thy loftinesse alway.
*qui cadit in terram, non habet unde cadat.
A new Convert.
Thy change was good, from bloody killing sword;
To Preach and Teach the ever living Word.
A rare Metamorphosis.
Is it not strange, in this our yron Age?
To see one clime to Pulpit, from the Stage.
The Epitaph of the studious Gent.
Mr Hop. Price.
To the worshipfull, his loving father Mr
Wm Price, Esquier.
As my true love was loyall unto thee
Whiles that thou breath’st within this valty Cell;
Which shall not end with thy mortalitie,
But in the grave with thee shall ever dwell:
So take these farwels as thy only due,
Of thy deare freind, thy death which doth berue.
Farewell, bright Gem of learnings worthie grace;
Farewell, great hope of all the Muses nine;
Farewell, sweet Impe, with thy Angellike face;
Farewell, embracer of the Word divine. 10
Farewell, deere Price, whose price I cannot count:
Farewell, untill we meet in Sions Mount.
Duke Humfrey entomb’d.
Thy Tombe has gratis more spectators e’re
Then those of Westminster for Coine I wote;
’Tis strange, therefore they doe not pay more deare,
But as I gesse, they be not worth a grote.
Gu. How goes the world, my Grillus, now with thee?
Gr. Comrade, my life naught is but slaverie;
Gu. How so, a Freeman for to be a thrall?
Gr. Free borne, but yet, Don Magnus Tenis Ball.
Gu. Cashiere his yoke, cast of his servile Badge.
Gr. Oh, no, for feare of his most furious rage.
Gu. What World is this? must you be Rombus slave?
Gr. Yes; else for such, just nothing we can have.
To J. G.
Thy Crosses were full many in account;
But, ay, one *Manie, doth these many mount.
Tillage. To his fr. Mr. Je. Cradocke.
Tillage is good, the Husbandmans true badge;
While youth remaines, still fructifies, Till Age.
Epig. 25. The Sympathie of Law, and Logicke. To his Aca-
demian Cousen, Jo. Powell.
The subtile Logicke, and the craftie Law,
Most equally within one yoke doth draw,
Both use *Deceipts, the one for glorie vaine,
Th’other doth abuse it for his Gaine.
Both Brawlers be, and doe for ever jarre.
Th’one at Schoole, the other at the Barre.
But of all evils we must chuse the lesse;
And from Impostors us for ever blesse.
To Logicks quipping tongue, I’ld rather stand:
Then to Lawes cruell, shearing, shaving hand. 10
Epig. 26. Quicquid in Buccam venerit,
To Mistr. Futilis.
Thy Sivie breast can keepe no secrecie,
But forcest all things thereout for to fle:
If there were vent to gable lie, or truth;
Thy breast should be in leiu of open mouth.
Epig. 27. Fides sola justificat.
To Mr Wadams, the worthie founder of a new Col-
lege in Oxford.
The Popish sect faire Colleges did raise,
Whereby they thought themselues to justifie;
But sole true Faith we see doth now adaies,
Produce Good daughters, workes of charitie.
Which caus’d, I thinke, our Wadam so to wade,
In building Columnes, which shall never fade.
Epig. 28. On Curius, and Curiosus.
I did force thee present my faultlesse Bill.
And praid thereto thy hand to under-write;
Thou told’st me, nay; for that t’was framed ill,
And why? thou se’st, ’cause faults it did not cite.
Thou diff’rest then from Curiosus quite,
Which will subscribe to All, but to the Rite.
To Mounsier After.
After, in what? in name, sure not in Lore.
For most Sr Iohns thou wentest bold, Before.
To King James, Brittaines royall Monarch.
The Unicorne, and Lion joine in love,
Which props the Armes of our most Gracious King;
Tho enimies in all things else they prove
Themselves unto themselves; a wondrous thing;
That beasts should be more humane in their kind,
To uniuons pearle; then mens Divisions blind.
To the most Illustrious Brothers, the Earles of Pem-
broke, and Mountgomerie.
Wales stiles you Both with titles great of fame
You pay ’ir alike, your Greatnesse mounts her Name.
To the learned and ingenious Divine. Mr D. Hall,
of his Vowes Cent.
Some vow, and breake; thou vowst and do’st fulfill.
Such is the difference ’twixt good, and ill.
In the praise of Brasen-nose-Coll.
Thy Nose more famous is, tho’t be of Brasse,
Then many a head of many a golden Asse.
To his loving fr. Mr Je. Price. Batc. of Divinitie.
Well may we liken Gods most Sacred Writ,
Unto the forme of Alcibiades:
Which outwardly lookt plaine, and nothing bright,
But inwardly, most like faire Goddesses:
So doth Gods Word seeme rude, in outward face;
But the cleare Spirit yeelds a shining grace.
On perfidious Carle, the Love-maker.
Carle will not keepe promise, wote yee why?
He thinkes by Law all Suiters well may ly.
To his friend and Phisition Mr Wm Voyle.
\My friend thou hast a griefe in Phisicks art,
Called, Me noli tangere, by name;
For being touch’t, it forthwith yeeldeth smart.
How can’st thou then to this a Med’cine frame?
Each griefe, I thinke, within thy *Bookish cell,
With this griefes name will be contented well.
To his golden Gildus.
The feign’d Utopian *weareth in his eare
A ring of Gold in lieu of infamie;
But, Gildus thou, Gold eare-rings still do’st weare,
Which is, thou sai’st, thy selfe to glorifie.
What glorie i’st? it serues to hide the sore,
Which in thy eares the Pillorie did Bore.
*Ex Mo. Vtopia.
To sober Mr Bevans.
Sobrietie thou count’st a sinne, and why?
Because thou seldome livest soberly.
The Sheapheards Calenders Arithmeticke.
Thou Kalender of Sheepheards farre didst erre,
In numbring Gods Commandements by rote;
When Nine for Ten for Truth thou did’st averre,
Leaving the second out, not least of note.
This thy substraction serves no other Sheepe
But thine; which basely to the Image creepe.
Thou sweet, profound Divine, with one sole hand,
Did’st raze more buildings of the Popish frame,
Then many a one, that seeketh to withstand
With both at once, the Gunshot of the same.
Here doth the Maim’d, (a wonder) as we see
The whole o’re-match, in Christ his Soulderie.
To Sr Jo. Stradling, Knight and Baronet, of his
Thy Muse fits not the vulgar in effect:
For reading, sans conceit, is to neglect.
Jewell, the Hammer of Heretickes.
Thou Jewel wast a jewel rare indeed,
Of value more then is the Ophir gold:
For this doth only decke the bodies weed;
But thy most heav’nly words most sweetly rowld
Doe decke the soule; and thy keene English Pen
Did cut *his throat, that sung the Popes Amen.
D. Rainolds Ghost.
What made thee, Atlas of our Church divine?
For to decline so under thy light paise:
Which never stoopst to any Popish shrine
In all thy life; but loth’st such Trash alwaies.
Thy answer is hereto most right I doome,
Burning to us thou did’st thy selfe consume.
To Mr Blable the Tale-teller.
Dame Nature gave thee two eares, and two eies,
(My wheel-tongu’d Gemy) which doth seldome stay
And but one mouth (through her fore-knowledge wise)
That thou should’st more both heare, & see, then bray.
But thou do’st blab against Minerva’s Law
More then thy Eares did heare, or Eies e’re saw.
To the Ho: and most vertuous Lady, Barbara, Vice-
countesse de Lisle, the Omega of
Al Rivers that do run to Neptunes Vast,
Do loose their names let them be ne’re so great:
So thy great Gransiers names in thee at last,
Do loose their stile, and Coyties royall seat.
What tho? is not the sea of more renowne
Then Rivers, which in him themselves do drowne?
Gabriell Goodman, heretofore Deane
Goodman wast hight, (and lesse I misse to scan)
Thou wast indeed a zealous right good man.
Tam Baccho, quam Vulcano.
To Hugh, the Ale-Draper.
Thou art a Crafts-man good; yet all thy Craft
Cannot detaine thee from too deepe a Draft.
To the noble heroike Gent: Sir William Sidney
Knight of the place of his Nativitie.
Zeland did blaze thy birth, be like thy name;
Then Sea, and Land shal Trump thy Golde fame.
To Zutphen, a Towne in Gilderland, at the Beleagring
of which, the renowned Sir Phillip Sid-
ney was killed.
I wist not which thy fame or infamie?
Doth more exceede, in causing Sidneys fall:
But yet, I rather thinke thy fame, for why?
Before that time thou hadst no fame at all.
On Elizabeths Embleme, late Queene of England,
Thou wast a Sheepe, and Wolves thy Shepheards were;
How didst thou then escape Deaths bloody hand?
Another *shepheard which doth rule the Spheare,
Did these fell shepheards wondrously withstand.
*Psal. 23. 4.
In Du Bartas praise, and his Translator.
Right well Du Bartas may we call thy name,
For *Duw in Welch betokens more then Man.
So wast, I thinke, when thou thy Laies didst frame,
Such Heav’nly Muse sole Man could scarcely scan.
And Josuah thou that took’st this verse in hand
To turne; for ere thy **sunne of praise shall stand.
* God. ** Jos. 10. 13.
To wise Lusca.
I wonder, Lusca, of thy foolish Pate,
Which to thy husband hast so wise a Mate;
He should have powr’d into thy selfe being One
Linkt to himselfe, some wisdome long agone.
But, as I gesse, thy head is farc’d so full
With folly, that no lore can pearce thy scull.
To publicke Lata alias Wh.
Why do men call thee, Publicke? for I weene,
What thou committ’st is not in Publick seene.
On Fabius, to the Readers.
Thou didst resigne thy Office, wote yee why?
Because thou sai’st, thou hard’st a Rat to Squeake:
None would have wondred at thy foolerie,
In leaving it, if thou hadst hard her Speake.
Pilling and Polling. To Dæmon, and Damon.
Dæ: How ist Comrade? we both professe the Law,
Therfore we should in one yoke equal draw.
Da: We do; but in the Manner we disjoine,
I civill do, thou common dost Purloine.
Dæ: No force, our Maners both shall Manours buy;
Da: Why then Ile shave, and fley thou Equitie.
To the most learned, and Heavenly Divine, Doctor
Holland, Doctor of the Chaire, lately De-
Thy sacred Chaire did oft from Earth thee Mount:
No marvell; for of Earth thou nought didst Count.
To Sir Hebes, the Unctions Empericke.
What diffrence twixt the Papists Unction,
And thine? for both we see be quite extream;
No great; they use it when all helpe is gone,
And thou hereby more kill’st then curst, I deeme.
To his loving friend Mr Je: Mayos, Preacher
of Gods Word.
In the Church primitive, *denoted men,
Did lay their Treasures at the Apostles feete;
But the Derivative, alas, since then,
Allowance poore allots to Preachers meete.
But like their brother Ananias, they,
Yeeld their poore Pastors, but a **part of Pay.
*Act. 4. 35 ** Act. v. 2.
To his friend R. Love.
Love oft is taken for blinde Cupids Game,
So is all love, thats only but in Name.
To the Illustrious L: Viscount de Lisle, brother to
Noble Sir Phil: Sidney.
Though not in Name unto thy brother deere,
Yet thou in Nature art his worthy peere;
His fame extolled, blazed forth his name,
Thy name exalted, Trumpets loud thy fame.
To the worthy Mecænas of learning, Oliver, Lo:
St Iohn, Baron of Bledso.
We Scholers may, St Iohn, thee stile right well,
Which gratis giv’st to aSaints what others sel.
a Ephes. 3. 8.
The Gilden Mile.
If that same Mile were farced full with Gold,
That’s Gilden call’d, for her smooth-silken face;
Then would our Mony-Miners sure be bold
Her path faire-superficies to deface.
Then should shee right her Gilden name forsake;
And for the same a gauled name might take.
Jus, and Jurista Robbing poore Luscus.
Jus: How ist colleague? how goes Don-Luscus case?
Jur: Clean backwarts; sans of Angels bright a brase
Jus: These heav’nly be, how then canst thou them have?
Jur: Friend, thou mistak’st the earthly I do crave.
On Thrasco, the kill Cow.
I meete percase Dell Thrasco at the shore,
As he came fresh from Irelands dismall warre;
I askt what newes? He told me all, and more,
How he himselfe did thousands kill, and skarre.
I him beleev’d, for he did beare about
Whole multitudes of the *rebellious Rout.
To his loving friend Mr R. Tho.
aThese seeme in peace to live in bmidst of warre,
So blind we judge when with cour selves we jar.
a Spiritus, & Caro. b Gal. 5. c. 2 Cor. 4.
Brittaines Bursse. To the famous late Earle of
Full fraught with store shall be thy famous Bursse,
When penilesse shall be the Misers purse.
To the ingenious Epigrammatists Jo: Owens,
and Jo: Heath, both brought vp in aNew Coll: in
Though you were both not of one Mother bore,
Yet nursed were you at the selfe same abrest:
For fluent Genious, and ingenious lore,
And the same Dugges successively have prest.
Tis true yee are but Fosterers by birth,
Yet brothers right in Rimes conceiptfull mirth.
To Blincke, the Archer
Cupid is blinde, yet never misse the white:
But thou dost see, yet never shoot’st aright.
On franticke Fiscus.
The proverbe is, aDame Mony can do All;
It instigats the Theefe to kill and steale.
It Spurres the Merchant On, to Round the Ball
Of this vast Orbe, to’enrich his Common-weale.
What can it not? It causeth us runne mad,
And Fiscus too, being therewith overclad.
a Pecunia potest omnia
The capring Corde.
To theevish Lato, and Clownish Leto.
What wouldst have done with that strong halter, Nick?
Which, Lato thought t’ exchange for thy Gold;
Thou in it wouldst have show’n a capring Tricke,
And strech’t thy Necke in that Racke, long of old.
But since thou scap’st, give Lato’s Corde againe,
His right,’tis pitty from him to detaine.
On the Worldlings question.
The common question now a daies doth passe,
Not what shee is; but what sweet Mopsa ha’s.
On the Nativity of Queene Elizabeth, borne on
the Eve of the Nativity of Ma.
Thy Virgin Birth upon a Virgins Eve,
Did true Presage thou should’st a Virgin Live.
To our Navigators, seeking heare the Port of Rest.
Yee Neptunes Plowmen, ye are cleane astray,
Which seeke on Earth the Port of quiet Rest;
Direct your course unto Olympus Bay,
This of all other Capes is sure the Best.
But your calme sea must be the liquid Aire,
Your ships, your sailes the wings not of Despaire.
A paire royall of Fiends.
If friendship true did ere in Bad ones stay,
It did remaine in Bengfield, Winchester,
And Constable; three men of Hels array,
Which sought Elyza’in in hir Prime to smoother.
I may not tearme these paire of Royall friends
But rather paire of most disloyall fiends.
To his loving Cosen Mr Rees Myricke.
Thou shalt now light on many a compleat frie,
That will thee call, most loving Cosin, kinde,
Which never skill’d it by arts Heraldrie;
Take heed, this Cosin, mai’st a cousner finde.
For Judas-like hee’ll Haile thee with a kisse;
And to betray, such Cheaters seldome misse.
On Fuske, the Gormandiser.
To his Cosin Row: Vaughan student
Physitians say, all sicknesse doth proceede
From o’re aboundance, or Vacuitie;
Whereof, the first thou verifi’est in deed
My Fuske, by gorging thy profunditie.
And ’fore that nature should a Vacuum graunt
Within thy Panch; Death-Surfeit thou wilt haunt.
On an Inne, Grac’d with the Flowre-de-Luce.
Th’art bravely deckt without, with France faire Armes,
But stain’d within with her most lothsome Harmes.
Coytie Castle, and Radyr house
exclaiming on Time.
World-wasting Time, thou worker of our woes
Thou keene-edg’d rasor of our famous name,
That antique was, but now oblivious growes,
The subject almost of contempt and shame.
Yet doe thy worst, our names shall live for ay,
Altho our fame thou buried hast in Clay.
On Pinch-Peny, Tent.
Some Treasures cast into the poore mans Box,
Some slender Mites according to their state;
But thou didst never (Tent) once op’e thy Lockes,
Thy Mydas muck for to anihilate.
But stuff’st his maw with Roundings for to eate,
To still his crie, which did for coine intreat.
To the studious, and noble Gent. Sr R. Sidney,
knight of the Bath.
The waters give thee Titles; but the earth
Shall adde great Trophies to thy greater Birth.
Lalus, and Lelius.
Lalus presuming on a dram of Lore,
Did Lelius daughter for his Mate implore.
Tush Princocke proud who scornefully repli’de,
Think’st thou to have my Darling, for thy Bride?
La: I am a Scholler, so I may growe great,
And may heereafter sit in princely seat.
Le. What do’st professe? what is thy facultie?
La. I study sacred deepe Divinitie.
Le. Tut, what a Priest? a Tenant but for life?
Pack hence thou get’st not my joy for thy wife. 10
La. Be patient Sir, let me win your good will,
I am a Lawier, full of Ploydons skill.
Le. I’st so? why then I’le instantly thee wive
Unto my child, for thou art like to thrive.
On Prudentius, a Christian
Tis not thy name mak’s thee deale prudently,
But thy profession, Christianitie.
To the most Rever. in Christ, Francis; B. of Landaffe
on his aCatalogue.
Though no Record shall Register thy fame,
aThine owne Records enrowled have the same.
The Crab Tree.
Of all the Trees, the Crab Tree, I thinke best;
(The Oake is strong great buildings to erect,
The Firre Tree faire to frame thereof a chest,
The Ew most fit an arrow to direct)
But this ha’s in’t a pretious Baulme to cure
The poys’ned stings which womens tongs procure.
On our fleering, fawning, trecherous
The temp’rat Zones, as aNaso testifies,
Participate of heate, and cold commixt.
Heerein I thinke, he vents out truth, not lies;
Because that many in these Climat’s fixt,
Doe, as the Proverbe saith, in either hand,
Both carry Water, and a burning Brand.
a 1 Meta.
On Golden Simonie.
To his deere affective Cousen,
Mr J. Pralpth.
At first, I know, our ghostly Simonie,
His name deriv’d from Simon Magus, just;
But now adaies, I thinke it verily,
It tooke his name from See-money accurst.
Heereby Sir Iohn gets him a living fat,
That never knewe the Latine for his hat.
To his fr. and familiar, W. Jo.
Most wonder will to heare a beggars brat
Should have as good, as large an heritage,
As the rich heire of some great Potentate,
That whilome was, or is in this our Age.
But so it is, the Heavens Hirarchie
To Spade belongs, as well to Scepter hie.
Perkins cases, the Divine.
Thy sacred Cases conscionable bee,
And why not Fips? because he nips the Fee.
To the most Rever. Father in Christ, Anth.
B. of St Davids.
Of his learned conceipts painted in his hall.
Some Pen conceipts their ingine sole to shew,
But thine doe wit, and sacred Lore containe:
Which tho domesticke be, for private vew,
Thy fame to publish yet, they doe pertaine.
If any question why they secret lie,
I say because the Pencill cannot flie.
On his brother, buried in Zeland,
What though thy corps, as is the acustome old,
With thy forefathers doth not lie ingrav’d?
I trust thy soule with theirs be safe enrowl’d
Within the bBooke of life, most certaine sav’d.
a. Gen. 49 33. b. Apoc. 8.
Epig. 91.To the hypocriticall Papist, wearing the Gospell of
Saint John about his necke.
Thou well this Book about thy neck mai’st weare:
For, this, I knowe, thy heart it comes not neere.
To his cordiall fr. Mr Moore Fortune heretofore a
Traveller. Of Virgina.
The Naturall aVirginianist’s beleeve,
All creatures, both visible, unseene;
That were, or shall, or doe on earth now live,
To be composed of light water greene.
A light beliefe, more light then is the water;
To deeme that all was made of such a matter.
a. Ex lib. Aug. Nav.
Epig. 93. In medio virtus.
To his fr. Rich. Johnes
Vertue they say ’twixt two extreames doth stand,
To separate Superlatives in ill:
Which true we finde in Brodefoord with her Strand, .
That parts Lauryddian, gainst ’Lanellies will.
Else sure the bibbers of these famous Townes,
Would meet ful oft to cracke their giddie crownes.
To the learned, honest, and Pious Gent.
Mr Th. Leysons, Phisitian; of
Your Bathes partake of waters cold, hot too,
A wonder ’twere, but that they wonders doe.
On the Orchadians, with their Be-
It ill befits for Man and beast to lie
In one selfe roome without partitions shreene;
Which the Orchadians hereof testifies.
A match ill made together as I weene.
Unlesse it be for love of buggerie,
The worst of kinde with beasts to multiply.
To the Censurers of these vulgar
Some carping Criticks doubtlesse will averre,
This kind of rime to have a common hew,
And therefore harsh, because it doth inferre
No novell forme, like to the fashion new;
No marvell, for it is the worlds true guise,
The new to love, the ancient to despise.
To ingenious Ben. Johnson.
If that thy Lore were equall to thy wit:
Thou in Apollo’s chaire might’st justly sit.
Costing Catita, t’was my chance to meet
Alumnus poore, whome kindly I did greet:
And ask’t what newes? who, sighing, did impart,
Which to unlace, said he, torments my heart.
But hoping, friend thou wilt condole with me:
I will unfold what I too common see.
The underling in Church, and Common-weale,
Must travaile, trudge, of bondage the vive seale;
And when his sorrie Sallarie would gaine,
He oft receaves his labour for his paine. 10
The Poore Pedant, who lives a servile life,
Which ever toiles, turmoiles in endlesse strife;
Must be to all, yea to the Clowne a Slave,
And for his owne, with cap and knee must crave.
The needy student wanting meanes to live,
Detesting by the former waies to thrive:
The Ocean furrowes, being quite out of hope,
And either serves fierce Mavors, or the Pope.
Alas, quoth I, is this the best reward?
That good deserts reapes in this fertile soile? 20
Yes certs, said he, but for the soules regard,
T’were better farre at the Plow’s taile to toile.
To long Megge of Westminster.
All cald thee, long Megge, true; they did not misse;
If broad Megge too, they had not fail’d, I wis.
To the kinde Reader, of the Censure
of my Booke.
Some will, no doubt, thee aske of this my Booke,
Whither ’t be good; perhaps thow’lt say, so, so.
Thy judgement give not so, I pray thee, looke:
But hereof rather answere him, no no.
Then ile be sure to shun each curious frie:
That nought but faults in Writings can espie.
The end of the first Centurie.
Patere, aut Abstine.
Go to the second Century